McDougal...

McDougal had a blood disease or some pituitary dysfunction bullshit that made him a little sissy runt. He wasn’t the kind of sissy runt fuck that would cower and not fight back when the bigger kids kicked him around, he just had that pituitary shit that made him weak. One spring day in the 8th grade when I was making my way through the transition hallway from the old building to the new building of PS #29 this red-headed moron gorilla, Talty McManus kicked McDougal into me. The little shit got  tangled in my legs causing both of us to fall and my books spilled all over the floor. Now, I didn’t really give a shit about that little runt fuck McDougal, people could kick him all they wanted as far as I was concerned, but as I lay there in the transition hallway all twisted up with him, like always I got really mad, especially at the sound of that fucking moron gorilla McManus and his friends laughing while I was on the floor with McDougal.

    Once untangled, I scooped up my heavy Literature Today book, jumped to my feet and with  both hands cracked McManus right upside his giant red moron head causing him to stumble back into the hallway wall. His friends grabbed me and locked me up and when McManus regained his equilibrium, he proceeded to bash the shit out of me, with a barrage of lefts and rights to my body and head until the shop teacher, Mr. Pierson came and broke it up, Still really mad and not giving a shit about consequences, the second I was released I threw a punch at McManus, which just grazed his jaw and eventually landed on the chin of a very angry Mr.Pierson. What did I care? Five days off, maybe I’d punch ten more of these fucking morons and slide right into summer vacation.

    The four of us, the flame headed gorilla McManus, his two friends and myself were sent to the detention room. It was determined that McDougal was the victim in all of this and was sent along to class. Mr. Franklin the imposing security guard babysat us as we theoretically waited for our parents to pick us up. Over the next hour or so McManus’ friends were escorted out leaving just the two of us there seperated by Mr. Franklin. I settled in with a Nick Hornby book I was reading knowing my dad, if they could even contact him, would  tell school officials to fuck off, I was their problem from 0745-0245.

    Sitting there, McManus would occasionally draw my attention from the Hornby book and mouth the words ‘I’m going to kill you!’ to which I responded with a sarcastic smirk and then some kisses blown in his direction from my hand. Constrained by the presence of Mr. Franklin, he was like a big dumb Irish Setter tied to a park car and taunting him was almost better than cracking that stupid fuck upside his moron head. When he was finally called to leave he shouted, “You’re dead Jackson!”

    Yeah, whatever.

    I left school later with a sense of liberation, five days worth, and decided to walk home rather than take the bus. I almost missed McDougal leaning up against the steel green street light pole in front of Rite-Aid in his little puke green jacket calling out to me in his tiny voice,“Jackson...Jackson.”

    But I just kept walking, fuck that little asshole. He didn’t get the message though and in a voice that was probably yelling for him said, “Thanks for helping me out today.”

    Normally, I would’ve just let this pass, but there were other kids around who may have heard him and I didn’t want anybody getting the impression that I was some kind of fucking good samaritan. So I turned around, took five steps in the direction of McDougal and said, “Listen you little fuck, I could give a shit about who kicks you around, just don’t get kicked into me. Got it?” Then, to make sure he got it, I slapped the little fuck upside the head and he crumpled to the ground like a toothpick house folding in on itself.

    Wincing in pain he got into a sitting position and looked up me with his pathetic, tiny pain filled eyes and fucking got me, “McDougal, goddammit, get up, stop being such a little shit,”  and I picked his meager little ass from the ground and started to brush him off and straighten him up.

“Get off of me,” he said trying to push me away.

    I stepped back and looked at him and I was filled with...I don't know what I was filled with, but I wanted to say something and when nothing came to me, I turned to leave.
I hadn’t taken a step or two when McDougal’s tiny little voice called out to me, “Hey Jackson, you want go in the Rite Aid and steal some beer with me?”